Learning to headbang
by Psychodahlia
Summary: Metalocalypse. Toki follows Nathan and ends up joining the band.


It had been Nathan he'd followed home. He'd recognized the larger than life rocker from an article he'd read in a magazine. The magazine article had been about the dangers of music and Nathan Explosion's scowling picture had been chosen to represent all that was evil and dangerous in the world of metal. He'd read that article a million times, late at night under the covers while listening to AC/DC softly playing on old headphones, his inborn desire for destruction and harsh sounds overriding the fear of parental disapproval. Each time, he'd grown more and more curious about the lifestyle that Nathan represented.

Curiosity eventually took over and he ran away from home. A series of misadventures saw him wind up in a country where he didn't speak the language, in a city he couldn't name, in a bar where he had no money to pay for the juice drink he was nursing.

Then the Legend walked in. The tall, beefy rocker thudded in and headed straight for the bartender. Three beers, four whiskeys, eight shots of vodka (straight) and a martini later, he and the bartender were chatting in what could only be described as amiably. Part of this might have had something to do with the fact that the bartender hated Nathan and all he stood for. Anything that hated was okay by the metal rock star and there was an appeal to not being fawned over every second.

Toki had no way of knowing this and after getting over his shock and joy of being in the same room with someone his parents hated, started to talk. In Norwegian.

Nathan listened for a few seconds to the incomprehensible chatter then turned to the bartender. "Who the hell is this douchebag?" The bartender shrugged and they listened for a few more seconds. Then, Nathan got up and left. He figured something would happen to the foreign little douche that would be bloody and painful (somehow that always ended up happening to his fans), and he didn't really feel like getting blood on his boots.

When he got back to the hotel they were staying for the concert, he noticed he had been followed. By the punk from the bar. "Uh…." Fuck, he never knew how to get them to go away. They usually died or were chased off by the bodyguards. "…Go away." More Norwegian. The only thing that saved him was Pickles' timely arrival.

"Dood, what's this?" The fact that Pickles was sober was a bit odd, but Nathan was too drunk to notice.

"It followed me here."

"Weird."

"Lost my room key."

"Skwisgarr's having an orgy in his room. We can wait for Charles there." The thought of going down to the front desk to ask for a new room key never entered their minds.

"'Kay." Place of hang out decided they took a few steps down the hall. Then stopped.

When they stopped, Toki stopped too. And brightly beamed at them.

"Give it an autograph and maybe it'll go away." Pickles suggested, leaning against the wall. Skwisgarr had an orgy in his room every night while they were on tour, but this was funnier and had potential for future blackmail.

"'Kay. You gotta pen?"

"Uh…" They both checked their pockets. "No. Ask him."

Nathan turned to the douche. "Have you. Got. A pen." He held his hand out and mimicked writing.

Miraculously, Toki had a pen. He handed it to Nathan, who looked at Pickles. "Paper?"

"Eh…write it on the wall or his forehead or somethin'."

Nathan turned to the wall and stopped. Pickle's sighed.

"N-A-T-H-A-N space E-X-P-L-O-S-I-O-N."

"Thanks."

"No problem." They stood back and waited to see how the kid would respond.

Toki looked at the wall then at Nathan and Pickles. Wall. Nathan and Pickles. Wall. Nathan and Pickles. Then, slowly, he pointed at Nathan and mispronounced his name.

"How long as this douchebag been hanging around you?" Pickles asked.

"Since the bar."

"Something should have happened to him by now."

"Ja." They both turned to see Skwisgarr, clad only in a velvet bathrobe, standing there. Beside him was an equally robed Murderface. "Where security ats? They can kills it." He paused when Toki started jumping up and happily pointing at him, yammering in Norwegian. "I has a fan."

"You have plenty of fansh." Murderface pointed out.

"I shares the fans. Like during the sex party tonights." Skwisgarr smirked at the hyperactive twit who was still jumping up and down in front of him. "This one is knowing abouts my guitar playing."

"You play the guitar. What's there to know about it?" Pickles asked.

"Is an jumbled process requirings much knowledge. Is returnings." The blond Swede turned and went back to his room. A moment later he returned, carrying a guitar, which he handed out. _"I hate my fans but I will allow you to show me how you play. I need a laugh."_ He said in Norwegian.

"You schpeaksh that crap?" Murderface asked, the other two being stunned at his language skills.

"Is Scandanavian. It is too." He smirked and stood back to listen to whatever crap the dildo in front of him would play. His ego wanted a boost.

Toki looked at the guitar and strummed it experimentally. Then he played. And Skwisgarr's ego did not get the boost it wanted.

Later…

Pickles held up the beer bottle and swayed it in front of Toki's eyes. "You want it? You really want it? You reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaally want it? Too bad." He popped the top open and guzzled it down. The group was in his room, the four bandmates sitting on chairs, Toki sitting on the floor.

Fully dressed and pissed off, Skwisgarr rolled his eyes. "We should gets rid of its before Charles comes returning." He was still the fastest guitar player in the world, but jealousy was one of his (many) vices. He wanted to get rid of the stupid little douchebag who played almost as well as he did.

"Leave it alone. It can be our pet." Murderface grumbled.

"Oh, Is seeings. You wants to puts a collar on it and leads it around on leashes, yeah?" Pickles and Nathan snickered.

"Schnot a bad idea. Could get it a little houshe to live in outschide…why are you laughing?"

"Dood," Pickles gasped out between laughter. "You wanna put a collar and leash on another guy." The alcohol made it even funnier.

"I hate you all." Murderface growled. "Scho immature."

Toki turned to Skwisgarr. _"What's so funny?"_ He asked in Scandinavian.

_"He wants to put a collar and leash on you."_ Was the reply.

_"What? Why?" _

_"You're his type." _

Toki stood up and headed for the door. _"Screw this. You guys suck."_ The problem with meeting living legends is that so often they turn out to be jackasses. The past few hours had driven this cruel lesson home. He might not be smart (or even average), and he didn't speak a word of English, but he knew jerks when he met them. And these were jerks.

"Na'tan, your douchebag stalker is sayings we is sucking. Can I kills it now?"

Nathan stopped drinking and looked at Toki. He stood up and pushed the hotel door closed just as he opened it to leave. He grumbled and towered over the younger man, an intimidating wall of flabby muscles, growls, and pure fucking metal. Toki whimpered and backed against the wall.

"Dood, Nathan, don't kill it in here. It'll stain the carpeting."

"Skwisgarr!" Nathan yelled out. "Ask him if he'd like to join the band!"

There was a long, awkward pause and the other three exchanged glances.

"Um…." Skwisgarr looked perplexed. "Why?"

"Because I want him to join."

"Um…why?"

"Because he's a good guitar player. And because he thinks we suck." Dethklok was the band with the most hatred in the world, and they especially hated themselves. Somewhere in the lead singer's twisted, hateful psyche was a recognition that they had found someone who loved their music, but hated them. And that was a badass combination.

"Maybes we ask Butler-man about it, ja?" Skwisgarr suggested.

Later….

_"How long have you been in America?" _

_"A week. I think." _

_"How did you survive?" _

_"I caught and ate some rats."_

Skwisgarr wrinkled his nose. "It says it ateings some rats since comings here." The others nodded their approval. Eating rats was brutal.

"Live?" Murderface asked hopefully.

"I don't thinks so."

"Aww." Eating dead rats was slightly less brutal.

Charles ignored the whisperings and continued the interview. His knowledge of Scandinavian languages had come in handy on more than one occasion. For one thing it had helped him recruit Skwisgarr. Now, it was helping him find out about one Toki Wartooth.

_"How old are you?" _

_"Twenty-eight."_ From behind him came a snort of derision from Skwisgarr.

_"Lie to me and I'll feed you to Nathan." _

_"…Twenty-five?" _

_"Last chance." _

_"Twenty! I'm twenty!"_

Another snort. "Great. Nows we are jogging a orbondage." Skwisgarr rolled his eyes.

"You mean 'orphanage' right?" Pickles asked.

"Is what Is said. Orbondage. It's twenty years. Not enough age to be metal. Shoo. Shoo. Goings back to Mommy and Daddy."

Charles folded his hands and leaned back in his chair his forehead wrinkled in thought. There was enough talent there, almost enough to challenge Skwisgarr. They hadn't been a band long enough that a new member would upset their fans. And several of the greatest bands in history had more than four members. He was clearly out of his mind, so he would fit in well. And the lead singer wanted him, which was good. Band bonding meant the fans would be quicker to accept the change….

And there was the fact that Toki had hung around the foursome for several hours and was unharmed. That in itself was amazing, given the high rate of death and chaos that seemed to follow the band. It was like the Angel of Death had attached itself to Dethklok and was hanging around for the ride. That someone could survive being a hotel room alone with Dethklok and emerge unmutilated and breathing was nothing short of demonic or miraculous.

Charles stood up. "I'm going to do a background check."

"What's the meanings of that's?"

"Means I think he should join, but I need to make sure he's not a homicidal maniac out to kill you all."

Skwisgarr scowled and stomped out of Charles' hotel room without a word. For a while all was silent then a heavily accented voice sounded. "Douchebag."

Pickles laughed and popped open a can of beer. Where he had been keeping it nobody knew, or wanted to ask. "Awww. His first word."

"He'sch already learning Englisch." Murderface snickered. "That'sch funny."

Charles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They had potential to be the greatest metal band in the history of the world (and he would make them realize that potential if it cost him his soul.) but throw some vulgarity around and they were like eight year olds out of earshot from Mommy and Daddy. "Right. Well, you three keep talking to him…"

"How're we gonna do that?" Pickles slurred, already on his third (where did he keep them all?) beer. "We don' know how to speak Norwegian or Scandinavian or whatever."

"Keep talking to him in English. Try to teach him some more words." He said patiently.

"We don't uh….we're not…we're musicians. Not teachers." Nathan said.

Charles gathered up his paper work. "I'm confident in your ability to teach him something." He left without saying another word, sadistically leaving the canary in the coal mine.

The canary was too dumb to realize what was going on and started chattering in Norwegian again.

"Whoa. Whoa. Shu…shu….SHUT-UP!" Nathan yelled. For a while the room was silent. Then Toki started talking again.

Later….

Charles critically reviewed the paperwork detailing what he'd been able to dig up on Toki. What he found could be summed up as: ninth grade education sans any knowledge of biology, a disturbing affection for clowns and stuffed animals, a middle school counselor who had diagnosed him with latent psychopathic tendencies, and abusive parents who belonged to a weird, quiet cult.

It was all he needed to make his decision. Charles pushed open the door to his hotel room and stopped. Arching an eyebrow at the chaos that had erupted, he focused his glare on Nathan. Nathan was the lead singer and thus in charge.

"Uh…you said teach him…English."

"Indeed. I didn't realize that meant turning my room into a…" He arched an eyebrow, unable to think of a word to describe the mass of destruction. "Was it really necessary to set the bed on fire?"

"We wanted to teach him brutal English."

Charles adjusted his eyeglasses and reminded himself of how much money he was being paid to put up with this. "Riiiiiiiiiiiight. Well, he's not out to get you and he's still alive so if you want him to join the band that's fine. He might one day snap and kill you all in your sleep, but the same could be said for me. I think that if we make him rhythm guitarist we can tap into the tween market. Get some of those middle school girls to start buying your records."

"Middle shhcool girlsh?" Murderface looked confused. "Thoshe aren't metal."

"No, but they have money. Money we want." Charles waited for them to understand before continuing. "Right, well then we have to take care of a few things…" He flipped through the papers and held one out to Toki. _"Sign here." _

_"Okay." _

_"Congratulations. You're now in the band. You will have to learn English. This is the last time I will speak to you in your native tongue." _

_"Wait…what?"_

Charles smirked a little and turned to leave again. "I'm going to get another hotel room. You three teach him how to be metal. And don't get him drunk. The last thing we need is an underage drinking charge against the newb."

Later, at the Mordhaus….

"No." Skwisgarr said simply, his fingers wildly flailing across the guitar. "Butler say he is needings to learn English. Transgenderings not goings to help with thats."

"Kid wasch right. You are a douchebag." Murderface muttered. "Sheriously, I think I wanted him in jusht becaushe it pisshed you off."

Skwisgarr narrowed his eyes. "I hates you so much."

"Yeaaaaaaaaaah, that was kinda my reason too." Pickles admitted, not at all intimidated by the glare. "And it's 'translating'."

"How'm I supposed to, y'know, teach him how to headbang without translation?" Nathan grumbled.

Skwisgarr shrugged. "Give…demonstration?"

Everytime Nathan headbangs, God kills an emo kid. Many emo kids died that day.

Later…

Charles finished ordering the death of another fangirl and then sat back to relax. Really, it had been a very good week. The new album was selling like crazy, tween girls seemed to be more interested it than usual, the last concert had sold out in record time, and he was confident that his idea for Pickles to teach Toki English was a good one. Skwisgarr flat out refused and the other two didn't really speak it that well themselves.

There was a thump on the door. Charles grabbed his 9mm pistol from his desk and stealthily opened it. Pickles, who had been leaning against it, fell facedown onto the floor with another thump. Quickly hiding the gun from sight (no, I'm not telling you where, use your imagination), Charles knelt down and checked for a pulse.

"…Pickles?"

"Hey Ofde…Ofsfe….hey Charlie."

"Are you drunk?"

"Uh…maybe. Might be high too. I can't really remember anymore."

"I thought you were going to teach Toki English?"

An insane giggle erupted from the naked drummer. "Yeah, I decided it'd be funnier if Murderface taught him."

Moments later…

"Pickles, can you understand what he's saying?" Charles asked after the demonstration of mutilated English.

Pickles' eyes widened and his pupils dilated. He saw God. He saw the Universe. He saw hot fudge sundaes and fluffy little ferrets attacking some guy and eating him alive. He understood what that meant. HE UNDERSTOOD WHAT IT ALL MEANT! HE KNEW THE MEANING TO LIFE. HE….

"Yeah, I got no clue. Murderface, you suck at teaching."

Murderface's response was drowned out by idiotic chattering in either English or Norwegian.

Months later….

"This," Pickles held up the beer can. "is a beer can. Can you say 'beer can'?"

"Beyars khan."

"Close enough." Pickles finished the last of his favorite liquid and tossed the can away where it landed in front of the window. The light (such as it was, the sun never seemed to shine in Mordland) glinted off it, making it shiny.

"Pickles, what are you doing?" Charles stood in the doorway, his eyebrow arched as it always was.

"I'm uh….teachin' 'im….English. Like you said to." Pickles looked at Murderface who nodded. Toki opened a can of beer, hesitantly sniffed it and then drank.

"Looks like you're teaching him to drink."

"Wha…? No! Bad Toki! No, no! You ain't supposed to drink my beer!"

Charles adjusted his glasses. "Well at least you acknowledge that those under twenty-one…"

"If you're gonna drink, steal some of Murderface's crap. He's got it hidden under his bed."

Murderface glared darkly and filed it away for later. He could patient. Revenge would one day be his and he would show them all. They would bow to Murderface! They would…oooh, shiny! That beer can was so shiny! Eh, forget it. He had better things to do than plot revenge. Being a dick was so much easier. "Fuck you, Picklesh."

"Yeah, I'm not into men. But it's cool if you are."

Murderface's response was drowned out by Toki gagging on his first taste of beer.

Much later…

Nathan stopped at looked at Toki. Something was weird. Something was off. Something was…bloody. "Toki?"

"Ja?"

"…Are you covered in blood?"

"No. Skwisgarr say Is nots metal enough to be cover-eds in blood."

Nathan translated that and it still didn't make sense. "So…uh…what's that?"

"Ketchups."

"Why are you covered in it?"

"Is gots it wrong on…on…pianos."

"Guitar."

"Ja. Thats."

Nathan knew he was not a smart man. At the same time he couldn't help but feel like there was a gap in communication. And it wasn't the language. "Uh…."

"I jabs-ed my fingers ups his nose."

"…What?"

"Skwisgarrs and Is fight after he dump the ketchups on me. I jabs-ed my fingers ups his nose and pulleds his hair."

"That's…actually pretty lame."

Much, much later…

Murderface had a decision to make. He could either be a dick to Skwisgarr or the new kid. Skwisgarr was a prima donna and all too easy to pick on. The new kid had raided his secret stash of booze and was all too easy to pick on. They were both in a heated 'debate' right now so either one would be ridiculously easy to rile. Decisions, decisions.

He had just decided to pick on Skwisgarr with the justification that Toki didn't really understand when he was being insulted anyway, when the little douchebag started screaming in Norwegian and ran out of their dining room slash board room in the middle of breakfast.

The outburst totally drowned out the really great dick headed insult that Murderface had spent six minutes and twenty-three seconds thinking up. Little brat. From now on, he was Murderface's first choice for a put down. Scoffing, he turned to his original victim.

Skwisgarr took a swig of wine and rolled his eyes. "Little cries baby."

"It's not nice you know." Nathan pointed out. "You're going to turn him into a brown haired version of you if you keep it up."

"Pfft. He could never be as goods as me."

"I have to agree with Schwishgarr here…"

"I hates it when yous say my names."

"…The little douchebag'll never be ash good ash him…"

"Thanks you."

"…But theresh an irony to thish…"

"Pfft. No ironies Is seeing."

"…Interrupt me again and I'll tell the pressh you shhtarted life ash a woman."

"I didn'ts!"

"…The irony being that Toki hatesh you almosht ash much ash we do, but yet shtill admiresh your shkill."

Skwisgarr looked up from his guitar. "Reallys?" The other three nodded. "I didn't knows that. Wow. Admires?"

"Oh yeah, remember when we firsht met him and he said he wash a fan of yours?" Murderface was really getting really into this. If he was lucky, Skwisgarr would try and confront Toki, who would deny everything and then they would fight some more. Fighting was always funny.

"Wow." The blonde said again. "I…I feels like I shoulds go and…and practice. Ja. Practice." He got up and quickly ran out of the room.

Pickles sat up when the door slammed. "Oh Gahd…please, no loud noises."

"Shure thing." Murderface tapped his spoon against his cup, letting the high pitched noise sing out across the room.

"Dick."

"Here." Nathan handed him a bottle of vodka. "This'll make you feel better."

"Oh, hey thanks. My cornflakes were getting' a little dry."

Down the hall…

Skwisgarr entered without knocking. He never knocked, he was Skwisgarr. Manners were for other people. "Um…"

Toki looked up from the model airplane he was putting together on the floor and scowled. "Whats you wantings?"

"Is uh…" Apologies were for other people too. "Is hear you practicings the guitar?" He asked in a desperate attempt to make conversation.

"No. I don'ts practings." Toki shrugged. "Don'ts need to."

Skwisgarr felt his blood boil. He was driven. He had ambition. He practiced constantly to keep his skill level up. Then some stupid little brat just followed Nathan back to a hotel and randomly became part of the band. That pissed him off so much.

"So whats you wants?" Toki returned to his airplane.

Skwisgarr sighed and regained his composure. The less Toki practiced, the less of a threat he would be to him. "I wants to say…"

"Ja?"

"To say…"

"Ja?"

"I wants to offers you help." Skwisgarr blurted out. Toki blinked. "I wants to teach you hows to be metal."

"Okay…" He had that 'I'm-confused-and-I'm-not-sure-how-to-deal-with-it' look on his face.

"Ja, ja. I wills teach you hows to be metal." This was so much better than apologizing.

"You nots a good teacher, Skwisgarr."

"I'm an awesomes teacher. You just sucks at guitar. But Is not goings to teach you guitar."

"Huh?"

Skwisgarr smirked. "Is going to teach hows to neg-goat-ate contract and hows to choose the best guitar picks. Also hows to have sex."

"I already…"

"I mean with women."

"I already…"

"I'll shows you fine Swedish porn. Shut up."

"Wowee." Toki still looked confused. "That…that actually nice of you."

"Ja. It is."

"I still hates you though."

"Awww. Li'l Buddy, the mores you hate, the mores brutal you are."

The End

Author's notes: I don't know what the hell possessed me to write this. I kinda hate it. I have no idea how to write accents. There was supposed to be a plot in all of this garbage, but I forgot. Towards the end I just got sick of it. The majority of this was written at three in the morning.

Remember: May 18th, season two starts on Adult Swim at midnight. And don't do drugs.


End file.
